The marble corridors of Gringotts were cold and echoing, but Harry didn't notice the chill. His mind was too full. Just hours ago, he had thought himself an ordinary boy—poor, secondhand in everything, and hidden away in the corner of someone else's home. But now, the truth loomed before him like the massive iron doors that sealed the ancient wizarding vaults: he was rich. Not just in gold, but in heritage, in legacy, in bloodlines older than the castle of Hogwarts itself.
The goblin who had escorted him through the winding tunnels—Gorflak, a senior vault-keeper—handed Harry a parchment list with a neat flick of his clawed hand. "These are the vaults under your name, Mr. Potter."
Harry held the thick sheet in his hand, blinking at the inked letters as if they'd suddenly shift away into nonsense.
1. Potter Trust Vault – Accessible
2. Potter Family Vault – Inaccessible until age 17
3. Gryffindor Vault – Inaccessible until age 15
4. Peverell Vault – Inaccessible until age 15
5. Sirius Black's Vault – Accessible
"Five vaults?" Harry asked, unable to keep the awe from his voice.
"Indeed," said Gorflak, walking toward a cart stationed near the end of the tunnel. "Most unusual. Especially access to the ancient Gryffindor and Peverell vaults. Those haven't responded to any bloodline for over five centuries. And yet—when you walked into this bank, the enchantments stirred."
Harry tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He climbed into the mine cart and clutched the sides as it rocketed into the darkness. The wind howled past his ears, and the twisting tracks threatened to throw him off at every turn.
They stopped abruptly before a vault marked with the Potter family crest—a stag leaping over a crescent moon. Gorflak stepped down and opened the gate with a wave of his hand and a murmured command in Gobbledegook.
Inside, Harry's eyes widened. Galleons—thousands of them—piled like a golden mountain. Rubies and sapphires glittered in small pouches scattered across the stone floor. Large amount of books were stored in a corner. "This is the trust vault?" Harry asked, stunned.
"Yes," said Gorflak. "Currently holds 78,000 Galleons, Precious Stones, 280 books."
"That's impossible," Harry muttered, " You told me Potter trust vault add thousand galleon per year, right? I'm only seven. That's—"
"—Seven thousand Galleons, yes," Gorflak finished. "But after the fall of the Dark Lord, the public believed it was your bravery—your sacrifice—that saved them. Many tried to send gifts. However, someone had placed an owl-redirection ward over your residence. The packages were returned or destroyed. So instead, they began depositing money, jewels and books in your name."
Harry stared at the pile. This wasn't just gold. This was gratitude. Hope. All packed into a vault he had never known existed.
He didn't take any coins, though Gorflak had offered a money pouch. "Later," Harry said. "I want to see the other vault."
Gorflak nodded and guided him deeper into the mountain, where an older cart took them to a chamber with the name Sirius Black etched above it. It looked untouched for years, dusty yet guarded by thick runes glowing faintly on the stone.
Gorflak chanted another Gobbledegook phrase, and the doors groaned open.
There were gold coins here, too—less than the trust vault, but still plentiful. But it was the shelves that caught Harry's attention: stacks of leather-bound books, loose parchment scrolls, a silver trunk labeled Sirius Black, and a thick tome titled The Marauder's Guide to Animagus Transformation.
"What is this?" Harry whispered, stepping closer.
"A handwritten guide," said Gorflak, "compiled by Sirius Black and his companions. It's illegal, mind you, to become an Animagus without Ministry registration. But these... these are not ordinary boys. They left behind many secrets."
Harry's hands trembled as he picked it up. The pages were full of diagrams, transformation notes, body modification rituals, magical concentration techniques—everything was explained as if meant for a friend to follow in their footsteps.
Beside it was another book: The Journal of Sirius Black. In the margins were sketches of magical beasts, dueling stances, and jokes written in loopy handwriting. Harry held it gently, feeling the weight of a godfather he had never met. A godfather who, for all the world, was a murderer—and yet had left behind memories and knowledge, not weapons or curses.
"I'd like to take these," Harry said quietly.
"You may," Ragnok answered. "Only books and scrolls. Vault funds remain untouched unless withdrawn through formal ledger."
Harry nodded.
As they rode back up to the surface, he sat in stunned silence. He had come to Gringotts a boy desperate to understand his place in a world of wonder and mystery—and he would leave with knowledge, gold, and the key to legacies written in ancient blood.
When he reached the lobby, Kyle was waiting, lounging in a chair with The Daily Prophet unfolded across his knees. He looked up and grinned. "There you are! I was starting to think they recruited you as a goblin trainee."
Harry laughed, the first real laugh in a long while, and sat down beside him.
"You good?" Kyle asked.
Harry clutched the books tightly in his arms. "Better than good. I think... I think I've just opened the first door to who I really am."
Even as the light of Diagon Alley glowed with its peculiar charm and bustling energy, Harry felt a quiet heaviness begin to settle in his chest. He had barely stepped into the magical world, and yet the thought of leaving it—of returning to Privet Drive, to dull grey walls and chores and silence—felt almost unbearable. He stared up at the cobbled rooftops, at the broomsticks sailing overhead, and the flapping owls soaring past the windowpanes of magical shops, and whispered, "I don't want to leave this behind."
Kyle noticed the look on Harry's face. "You alright?"
Harry turned to him. "When you go back to Hogwarts, I won't have anyone to bring me here again. I'll be stuck in the Muggle world. There has to be some way... something I can do to take this back with me. The books, the scrolls... maybe even a bit of this life."
Kyle grinned. "There is something. You ever heard of a magical trunk?"
Harry shook his head.
Kyle explained as they walked toward the far end of Diagon Alley. "There's all kinds, but I know one specifically—a Muggle Repelling Trunk. Basically, no non-magical person can see it. Not your Uncle, not your Aunt, not even if they're looking straight at it. It's expensive, though."
"I've got money," Harry said without hesitation. "Let's go find the best one they've got."
The pair arrived at a polished, brass-plated shop with a tall window filled with floating trunks of various shapes, sizes, and colors. The golden name above the door read: Chester & Rindle's Trunkcrafts – Since 1204.
Inside, the shop smelled of cedarwood and varnish. Trunks of all sorts lined the walls—stacked, hovering, folding into themselves like puzzles. A large, broad-shouldered wizard in a finely cut robe stepped forward. He had a thick grey beard, glowing blue eyes, and fingers covered in ink and leather oil.
"Morning, lads," the man said. "I'm Chester. What're you looking for?"
"I need a trunk," Harry said firmly. "The best one you've got in the shop."
Chester raised an eyebrow. "Best one, you say?" He gave Harry a quick once-over, noting the bandana and secondhand clothes, and almost said something—until Kyle stepped forward.
"He's serious," Kyle said. "Money's not a problem."
Chester grunted thoughtfully. "Well... I do have something." He motioned them to follow. "Made it three months ago for Gilderoy Lockhart—famous adventurer, bit of a peacock. Ordered a custom trunk and never came to collect it. I've sent letters, owls... no reply. So it's sitting here, gathering dust."
He led them to the back of the shop, where a large emerald-green trunk with golden latches sat on a plinth, polished and gleaming. "I call it the Traveller's Trunk. Built like an apartment inside. Come—have a look."
With a flick of his wand and a murmured phrase, the trunk sprang open—and the lid didn't rise like a normal trunk. Instead, a golden light shimmered as a staircase unfolded down into its magical interior.
Kyle gasped. "Blimey..."
They descended, and Harry's breath caught in his throat.
The living room was warm, carpeted in fine velvet rugs, and held a roaring fireplace surrounded by armchairs. The bedroom had a large, four-poster bed with deep red curtains, a wardrobe that opened into rows of cloaks and neatly arranged drawers, and even a mirror that straightened Harry's messy hair magically (and then gave up in frustration). The bathroom had white marble floors, a deep claw-foot tub, and silver taps that poured steaming water at a word. The kitchen had a magical stove that sparked to life with no firewood or gas and cleaned itself when finished. The dining room held a polished oak table that could expand with a command.
Then came the library. It was two stories tall inside the trunk, filled with shelves for books, a writing desk with inkwells that refilled themselves, and softly glowing chandeliers. Finally, the potions room—lined with cauldrons, labeled jars, and even a magically chilled cabinet for ingredient preservation.
Harry stared in awe. "This is... incredible."
"Four thousand Galleons," Chester said.
Kyle let out a low whistle. "That's... a lot."
Harry didn't blink. "I'll take it."
Chester blinked, then chuckled. "You're not going to haggle, lad?"
"Oh, I will," Harry said, and after a few rounds of negotiation, a deal was struck at 3,400 Galleons. Chester agreed, muttering something about finally getting it off his hands.
"But I don't have a wand," Harry said as they returned to the shop floor. "How will I use it?"
"Already accounted for," Chester said proudly. "All controls are voice-activated. Every room responds to your voice alone. And the trunk is blood-bound for extra security. Only you can open it."
He handed Harry a small silver pin.
"Now, touch your hand to the lid. Say your activation password. That will bind it to you."
Harry placed his hand on the lid and whispered, "Potter. Gryffindor. Peverell."
A golden light rushed over the trunk's surface. It shimmered, sealed, and shrank—until it was the size of a matchbox.
"Now," Chester said with pride, "it will always stay within a thousand meters of you. If you forget it somewhere, it'll return to your pocket. And no Muggle will ever see it."
Harry slipped the tiny box into his pocket, heart pounding with excitement. "Thank you."
"Take good care of it," Chester said. "Not many trunks like that in the world."
And so, Harry returned to Gringotts with Kyle and withdrew the required Galleons. He paid in full and received a receipt marked with golden ink.
As he and Kyle walked back out onto Diagon Alley, Harry glanced up at the wizarding world around him and then down at the magical trunk that now lived in his coat pocket.
He might still live on Privet Drive. He might still have to bear Aunt Petunia's glares and Vernon's grunts.
But now—he carried magic with him. A hidden sanctuary. A private world.
And he wasn't just Harry anymore.
He was Harry Potter, heir of Gryffindor and Peverell.
With his new trunk secure and bound to him by magic and blood, Harry felt like his life had transformed in a single day. He wasn't the barefoot boy in Dudley's cast-offs anymore. He was now a wizard with wealth, a personal magical sanctuary, and knowledge—real, ancient knowledge. But he was far from done.
After a quick snack at a nearby stall, Harry returned to Gringotts, eager to gather more supplies while he still had the chance. Kyle trailed behind him, yawning from the sheer pace Harry had kept since morning.
"Back again?" the goblin teller grumbled when Harry reappeared.
Harry nodded. "Yes. I need to access my Trust Vault again."
Within minutes, Harry and the goblin were descending into the deep marble tunnels of Gringotts in the rattling cart. They arrived at his vault, and the goblin allowed access with a tap of his clawed finger. When the doors opened, Harry didn't go for the gold. Instead, he headed straight for the side shelves lined with books—a treasure trove of 180 magical books, many looking rare and ancient. Spellbooks, dueling manuals, old magical theories, beginner's arithmancy, wandlore basics—he packed them all into the trunk's library with a voice command.
Then they rode deeper into the caverns—to the vault of Sirius Black.
The goblin made a face at the name but said nothing. Inside Sirius's vault, it was darker and gloomier, with stacks of gold and piles of old, weathered books scattered around in reckless abandon. Harry ignored the riches and focused on gathering the books—several were journals, some on defense magic, dueling tactics, and war craft, including the Marauder's Guide to Pranks and Sirius's own handwritten journal from his Hogwarts years.
He tucked them carefully into the trunk's library before exiting with a satisfied breath.
Next, he approached the conversion desk at the edge of Gringotts. "I want to convert five thousand Galleons into Muggle money," Harry told the conversion goblin.
The goblin gave him a piercing look, then nodded and performed the necessary spellwork. Within moments, Harry had a small enchanted pouch filled with Muggle cash—British pounds stacked and sealed in magical folds of paper. He tucked it into a compartment inside the trunk's wardrobe.
By now, Harry's confidence had grown. With Kyle still by his side, they visited Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, where Harry ordered tailored cloaks, wizard robes, and fine magical caps, all in darker tones to contrast the usual Hogwarts palette. He also chose more modern Muggle outfits, properly fitting shirts, trousers, socks, and undergarments.
Then, to his delight, he commissioned a set of dragon-hide boots and jackets—charcoal, navy, and emerald green—lightweight, fire-resistant, and very expensive. Kyle nearly fell over when he heard the price.
Next came Honeydukes Express, where Harry filled several bags with chocolate frogs, cauldron cakes, sugar quills, pepper imps, fizzing whizzbees, and Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. They shrank and were stored into the pantry of his trunk.
At Flourish and Blotts, they took no chances. Kyle made every purchase while Harry stayed quiet. They bought a dozen beginner's textbooks as cover, but also slipped in intermediate and advanced spellbooks, rune guides, and curse-breaking primers. The shopkeeper hesitated at first but relented when Kyle insisted he was doing extra summer studies for a professor's recommendation.
At the apothecary, Harry bought ingredient packs, glass phials, cauldrons, stirring rods, and preserved animal parts. He also bought a year's supply of basic food rations and Flu Powder, sealed carefully in tin boxes. All were placed into designated compartments in the trunk's kitchen and potions lab.
By the end of the day, Harry had spent nearly 4,000 more Galleons. His legs ached. His feet throbbed. Kyle collapsed into a chair outside the Leaky Cauldron with a groan.
"I think I need a nap in your trunk's bedroom," Kyle muttered.
Harry chuckled, then dug into his pouch and handed Kyle a small sack of gold. "Here. 100 Galleons. Open your own Gringotts vault."
Kyle's eyes widened. "What? Are you serious?"
"I've got more than enough. And you've helped me more than anyone ever has."
Kyle took the gold, dazed. "Thanks, mate. You don't know what this means to me."
Harry grinned, "Well, now you've got a vault too."
As the sun began to dip, casting golden light across Diagon Alley's cobbled street, Harry thought he was done.
But then—he saw something.
A young girl with bright pink hair, perhaps thirteen or fourteen, was walking near a potion stall when four cloaked men surrounded her. They moved swiftly. One raised his wand, muttered something, and the girl froze in place—eyes wide but unmoving. Another threw what looked like an invisibility cloth over her body, and suddenly, she was gone. The men, however, still looked like they were carrying something as they began walking briskly toward a narrow, crumbling alleyway.
Harry froze. The hair on his neck rose.
"Kyle!" he hissed, nudging his friend. "Do you see that?"
Kyle looked up, and his face went pale. "Don't go that way, Harry. That's Knockturn Alley. Shady magic, illegal curses—people disappear there."
But Harry was already moving. His heart thundered.
Someone had just taken that girl.
And Harry Potter was not going to let them get away with it.
Without thinking twice, he darted into the alley, vanishing into its shadows, chasing after the men who carried the girl no one could see.
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